Page 4 of No Match Found
I ignored the bite of annoyance at his comment. The legitimacy of the critique only made it more irritating. “Well, we figure our users—who are, on average, twenty-nine years old—might relate better to Cam Carter than to a 95-year-old couple celebrating their silver anniversary. But we’re always open to improvement. Perhaps you’d like to submit yourself for the job?”
Mr. Wilder’s mouth stretched into a wide grin, full of straight teeth. Not Cam Carter, Hollywood-style veneers. These had a little character to them, giving an impression of realness and relatability. It made him all the more attractive.
Jenna’s rosy cheeks made sense if he’d targeted her with that smile.
Maybe Taptrack had been fooled by it too.
Not me. I needed to maintain my professionalism and let Matchify’s stats speak for themselves.
“Thanks for the offer,” Mr. Wilder said, “but I happen to like my job. Mind if I sit?”
“Of course,” I said calmly, a flush creeping up my neck. I should have offered him a seat already. I was off my game.
Mr. Wilder sat in the padded chair across from my desk, reclining as much as it would allow and crossing his ankle over the top of his other leg. I half-expected him to kick off his loafers, reach for a soda, and pop it open.
Instead, he opened his notepad and flipped over a few pages covered with graphite-colored scribbles.
I clasped my hands on the desk and waited, but my eyesflicked to my computer screen. There were a couple of new messages—this time in the Founder chat. The first was from my friend Jackie, Matchify’s lead developer.
Jackie:I hear we’ve got an unfriendly in the house?
Brooke:Confirm.
Katie:Dox him, Jack!
Katie was our User Experience expert, and she knew as well as anyone that Jackie would never even consider using her skills for such a malicious purpose.
Nick:Let me know if you need a timely interruption, Vivian
Nick was Matchify’s Head of Strategy, but unofficially, he spoke for all men in our Founder meetings. He wasn’t just the valuable but lone man in the Founding Five, though—he was the only one of us who was married.
I’d love to say Matchify was responsible for that success, but it had happened before the product’s development.
“You okay if we get right to it?”
I pulled my gaze from the screen in a hurry. “Of course, Mr. Wilder.”
“Grant,” he replied without looking up from his notes. “So, what sparked the idea for Matchify?”
Easy one. I’d only answered this question a million times. Standard interview fare.
I relaxed a bit. “I was in college studying data science, and I became interested in how people made decisions in dating—and all the ways compatibility gets ignored in that process. Most people cluster in predictable compatibility ranges—like a Bell curve. I wanted to build something that built on that to facilitate what’s often a difficult, messy experience.”
It was what you might call a three-quarters truth. The fact that my own poor dating decisions had been the primary factor in starting Matchify was strictly need-to-know. This interview was about the Matchify vision, not my personal dating history.
The sound of scribbles filled the room for a few seconds. “What about the ones who don’t fit in yourpredictable ranges?”
I shrugged. “They’re outliers. Every curve has them.”
He gave a little nod I didn’t know how to interpret. “Was Matchify built more for the public, then, or”—his eyes flicked up to mine—“did you build it for yourself too?”
My heart somersaulted, but I recovered quickly. “I built it because the data were compelling. The inefficiency of dating systems was begging for a solution.” I frowned at the flicker of amusement that crossed over his expression. “What?”
“You used data in the plural.”
“Dataareplural.”
His eyes held mine for a second like he was considering whether to argue the point. “Do you claim to have found the solution for heartbreak, then? It’s a bold assertion.”
